Standing behind the guard, gun pressed to the base of his skull, jacket dark with someone else’s blood, grinning the grin of a man who has been enjoying his evening against all reasonable expectation?—
Lorenzo.
The guard freezes mid-sentence. He looks at me, briefly, almost accusingly. Then he lowers his pistol to the carpet.
“Kick it.”
He does as he’s told.
“Miss Mendez.” Lorenzo inclines his head, almost courtly. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s a compliment. Considering.”
He looks down at the guard and taps his gun gently against the back of the man’s skull.
“So. This asshole.” He’s looking at me. “Brains or balls?”
The guard doesn’t move. I think he’s holding his breath. I would be holding my breath.
“Spare him.”
Lorenzo raises an eyebrow.
“You sure? He doesn’t look like a good guy.”
“He isn’t. But he helped me. The text came from his phone.”
Lorenzo considers this for a moment. He looks almost disappointed, like he was really hoping for another kill on his counter.
“Well, well. Your lucky night, my friend.”
He doesn’t lower the gun much. Just enough.
“Hands behind your head. On the floor. Face down. You move, I kill you anyway. Are we clear?”
The guard nods. Carefully. He lowers himself to the carpet face down with his hands laced behind his head.
Lorenzo crosses to me. He pulls a knife from his belt. The blade’s dark.
“Sorry about the ropes. This is gonna sting.”
He cuts. The first cut frees my left wrist. The second cut frees the right. Then the ankles.
I bring my hands around to the front. My wrists are raw with twin red bands around them, and the bands are bleeding in two places where my struggling broke skin. It doesn’t matter.
What’s a little more pressing is my inability to stand. I try to, but my legs shake so badly I nearly collapse back into the chair.
Lorenzo catches me.
“Take it slow. Pins and needles in about thirty seconds. It gets worse before it gets better.”
But, really, that hardly matters either at the moment.
“Where’s Raffaele?” I ask. My mouth is dry. Part of me is still filled with the fear I was wrong.
“Upstairs.”
